


The Boy

by bottledyarn



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledyarn/pseuds/bottledyarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brallon college AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy

The boy’s legs were thin. They were wrapped in tight black denim, the only loose parts being at his knees and ankles. His hair was short and brown, cresting roundly an inch or two above his eyebrows. His eyes were quite large and very dark, but as he turned slightly to look outside, the light caught them and showed their mahogany brown color. His nose was small and button-like, but didn’t make him seem childlike. His jaw looked strong in some lights, and then rounded and soft in others.   
He always wore button-down shirts, untucked, in varying grays. Sometimes a skinny tie would grace his neck, and other times he would wear a black vest. He wore converse or dress shoes all the time. The dress shoes were only for special occasions. When he had to dress up for something, the only thing he’d change was his shoes.   
By the standards of the school, he was already dressed up all the time. Most guys at the school wore sagging blue jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts. The girls wore low-cut tops and tight skinny jeans, and giggled under their breath, saying that this boy had the same jeans as them, only tighter.  
The jeans he wore looked just like theirs, of course, if they wore black jeans. Sometimes the girls did, but even then their legs didn’t look the same as his. His legs were thinner, spindly appendages.  
He didn’t fit in at the school, to say the least. Everyone there had awful test scores, mostly because they simply didn’t try. He did try, and he had perfectly fine grades, A minuses or so.   
His name was Dallon Weekes, but the people at the school didn’t normal address him as anything- perhaps ‘Hey, you,’ if they really needed to speak to him.  
He liked to read. It didn’t matter what, but he preferred stories that didn’t have happy endings. He thought it was unrealistic. His parents had been dead for a while, so he knew what life was really like. He lived with an aunt, one that had several dogs that he was forced to share a bed with.   
He only had a few months of this school left, and then he was on to college. He was going to Colgate, to study English. He wanted to be a college professor of English, someday.   
He played the string bass and the violin, but he preferred piano to both. Something about the sound to pianos soothed him, and he could easily waste a day playing songs on a piano.   
When he did get to college, he decided to take the honors six-year route, and when he turned twenty seven, he’d managed to finally get the teaching position he’d always wanted.   
His students were awful. He’d always expected college students to be better, but when, fresh out of high school, they sat in that big room, with laptops and recorders, they expected a wizened old professor.  
When he entered, a young man who could still pass for a seventeen year old, these students snickered and smirked as he spoke. His older students, the ones on the brink of going out into the world, getting jobs, were more serious. If anything, they seemed a bit jealous of him- only a few years older, yet a college professor.   
Except for one young man- this young man, who sat at the middle right of his class. His hair was a dark brown, and he kept it either slightly slicked back or loose over his forehead. His eyes were childlike, bright and big, and a light brown. His lips were girlish, full. But his jaw was steady, an almost square shape.   
His eyes darted around the room and his leg jumped around, as if he had somewhere to be. And yet, despite his impatient attitude throughout the lecture, afterwards he would linger, fiddling with his bag, with anything. Eventually he would leave, putting on a pair of red glasses as he walked out the door.  
The student’s name was Brendon. Dallon had checked the list. Brendon Urie.   
An entire semester went by, and Dallon- Professor Weekes- caught himself staring at this boy who looked like he couldn’t pay attention, yet never stopped paying attention, always being able to spout information from the classes in essays and exams.  
After the very last day, when there had been an optional discussion on Shakespeare, Dallon walked towards him. Brendon fiddled with his backpack, and was just putting his glasses on before leaving when Dallon came to a stop, a few feet away.  
“Brendon,” he said. “You’re my best student.”  
“Thank you, Professor Weekes,” Brendon said. “You’re my best professor.”  
“I doubt it.”  
“No, really!” Brendon exclaimed. “I love your classes!”  
“Nobody loves my classes.”  
“Why not?” Brendon asked.  
“I think it’s because I’m young, you know? They don’t think I’m qualified.”  
“Why, how young are you?”   
“I’m twenty eight as of last week.”  
“Wow! You’re only five years older than me and you’re a professor?”  
“Yeah,” Dallon said. “I got to college pretty early, I was only sixteen, and I took the fast path, basically.”   
They stood there, in the empty room, for a moment silently. “What have you majored in?” Dallon asked. “I know you’re graduating in a few weeks.”  
“Oh. Biology and teaching, combined. It’s this five-year program, so then I can teach up to tenth grade biology.”  
“Why are you in this class, then?”  
“I failed it my first year.”  
“You failed it?”  
“Yeah, I wasn’t really…into college then, you know? I wanted to be a hairdresser, but my parents told me that was ridiculous. So then I decided to study banking, but I hated it. I flunked like every class because I was so miserable. Except for this mandatory science class. And I always like science, and I like talking, so I figured science teacher! And science teachers are allowed to be dorks, so it’s perfect for me.”  
“Huh,” Dallon said. “Do you still wish you were a hairdresser?”  
“No…I probably would have sucked at it anyway.”  
Dallon smirked. “Do you want to give it a shot anyway?”  
“Give what a shot, hairdressing?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Do you want to cut my hair? I need a trim, and now I’m curious if you’d be any good at cutting hair.”  
“Sure!” Brendon exclaimed. “Do you have scissors?”  
“Yeah, sure.” Dallon went down and sat at his desk, leaning back into his chair as he handed Brendon the scissors. “By the way, your final grade is a ninety seven. You did excellently on the exam.”  
“Awesome!” Brendon pinched a strand of Dallon’s hair between his fingers, rolling the pieces against his thumb. “Uh, how much do I cut?”  
“I dunno. Half an inch?”  
“I’m not liable if you end up looking like crazy!” Brendon said as he snipped off the first tiny piece.   
It took ten minutes, and his hair looked about the same, just a bit shorter. “I think you would have done fine as a hairdresser,” Dallon said. “But you seem like a science teacher.”  
“Thanks…um, Professor.”   
Dallon laughed. “This class is over, don’t call me that.”  
“What’s your name, then?”  
“Dallon.”   
“That’s a good name,” Brendon said seriously. “It sounds like a noun.”  
“Thanks, I suppose.”   
“Do you want to go to the campus coffee shop? It’s right downstairs…” Brendon asked nervously.   
“Sure!” Dallon said brightly, putting on a well-worn leather jacket.  
Brendon walked behind his ex-professor, watching the way he walked. Dallon walked bouncily, lifting up onto his toes with each step. His strides were long, but graceful.  
Brendon had to take fast steps to keep up, and he played with his bag while they walked. The café was mostly empty, plus one frazzled looking girl in the corner, typing frantically away on a laptop.   
The two sat at the side of the shop after ordering drinks.   
“I was almost in a band,” Brendon offered as a conversation starter. “But I decided I’d rather get a real job.”  
“I’ve always wanted to be in a band. But I only play classical instruments.”  
“What do you play?” Brendon asked curiously.  
“Bass, violin, and piano…”  
“Wow! That’s cool. I play guitar and piano, mainly. I fiddle with other instruments, I suppose. I was meant to be the singer of the band, though. Originally I was supposed to be the guitarist, but they decided they liked my voice. I felt kind of bad when I left, but whatever.”  
“Are they still playing?”  
“I think so…they probably got a deal, but when I left they were talking about changing their name, so I don’t really know how to look them up. I suppose I could by their personal names, but whatever.”  
“You’ve moved on.”   
“Yeah, exactly,” Brendon said, glancing at the counter. “I think the drinks are done.”  
“Cool,” Dallon said.  
He watched Brendon walk to the counter, finding his eyes drift along the younger man’s body. It was strange- Dallon had never felt significant attraction to anyone, really. He’d been around too many obnoxious people. But just being within feet of Brendon made him feel nervous. That little hollow feeling at the bottom of his stomach made him feel uneasy, and yet really happy.   
He stared at Brendon as he sat back down, taking his drink. “Thanks.”  
“Anytime.”  
They chatted for most of the afternoon, and as they both slumped slightly lower in their chairs, Brendon’s bouncing knee brushed against Dallon’s. The sun tilted much lower in the sky when they left the shop.  
The small road was quite narrow, and mostly empty. When they walked, Dallon’s hand brushed against Brendon’s, making Dallon’s heart jump into his throat. He felt like a nervous little child.  
He didn’t really know where they were walking- he didn’t normal go this way. His car was parked in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?”  
“I dunno,” Brendon said. “Anywhere.”   
Dallon smiled.

 

Brendon walked quickly across the stage to get his diploma. His family was in the large crowd, but he felt his gaze drifting to the section of professors, scanning for Dallon. He couldn’t find him in the group, and he felt a sort of drooping depression in the pit of his stomach.  
He walked down the other side of the platform and went around the back of the stage, the way the graduates were supposed to, before taking their seats. As he rounded the back of the stage, he passed by several tall wooden pillars that held up the platform.  
At the second to last pillar, a pair of hands reached out and grabbed his waist, pulling him under the stage. Brendon let out a small gasp.  
“Congratulations, Brendon,” Dallon said. “I would have been out front to applaud, but then I couldn’t see you in person.”  
Brendon blinked. “Thanks. Um,” he reached out to the older man, brushing his fingers at Dallon’s exposed collarbone. “Dall-on…” his voice broke slightly.   
“Brendon, people are probably going to think it’s weird you’ve taken so long to cross the back of the stage. So if you don’t mind….” Dallon looked Brendon in the eyes, and his hand rose slightly, finding purchase in Brendon’s shirt at his side.   
Brendon moved closer to Dallon, their bodies a few inches away. Dallon tugged at Brendon’s shirt, and their fronts pressed together. With a swift movement, Brendon pressed his lips to Dallon’s.   
Dallon felt the rushing sensation he had expected- a swooping drop in his stomach, shaking hands. He found his hands clinging to Brendon’s back, pulling him firmly against him.   
Brendon felt his hands shaking, almost vibrating as he pressed his hand into the back of Dallon’s neck, pulling their faces closer.  
A burst of applause notified them that another graduate was about to come around the back. Brendon pulled himself away from Dallon, taking in a small breath. He’d risen up on his tiptoes to shrink their large height difference, so he fell back down onto the balls of his feet.   
“I’ll see you later,” Brendon said, smiling broadly.   
Brendon practically skipped around the edge of the stage, taking his seat among the graduates, telling them he’d paused backstage simply to recollect his thoughts about graduation, smirking at their rolling eyes. 

 

Brendon didn’t see Dallon for a few weeks. When they did meet again, it was because Brendon had gone to Dallon’s school office.  
Dallon sat at his desk, his thin black clad leg propped up on a messy pile of books. He tapped a pen against the desk absentmindedly, flipping through a book with the other hand.  
Brendon knocked on the opened door quietly, making Dallon jump. “Brendon!” he exclaimed, leaping out of his seat. “Come in!”  
Brendon closed the mahogany door behind him and pushed Dallon up against it. “I didn’t expect to miss you,” he said, pressing his face against Dallon’s neck. “Or, at least, so much.”  
“Me either,” Dallon said. “I don’t have your number or anything, though, so it’s hard to contact you.”  
“My numbers in your pocket now,” Brendon said, smiling against Dallon’s throat. “Since I’m not your student, and we’re both legal age, we can do anything we want, right?”  
Dallon’s throat felt constricted. “Yeah,” he managed.  
“Mmm,” Brendon hummed. “That freedom sure is wonderful.”  
“Yup,” Dallon replied, his voice faint and rather high pitched.  
Brendon laughed and raised up onto his tiptoes, pressing hard into the other man to kiss him. Their arms pulled each other closer, and they leant on the door for support.   
“I’m so glad I failed English,” Brendon murmured against Dallon’s lips.  
“Mm-hmm,” Dallon agreed, his hands finding their spots against the small of Brendon’s back and his surprisingly round butt.  
Brendon smiled and kissed Dallon again, of course not minding at all the hands- his own were wrapped up in Dallon’s hair, but it was all personal preference. Dallon’s hands could wander anywhere they wanted, as long as it was on Brendon.


End file.
